


Day 11- Skeleton

by Broken_Clover



Series: Goretober 2019 [11]
Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Body Horror, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Food, Gen, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: "How did you manage to lose six kilograms in one week?"





	Day 11- Skeleton

Zappa looked himself over in the mirror, trying not to grow frustrated with what he saw. When he got frustrated, there was always a point when he started crying, and that wouldn’t accomplish anything.

It just didn’t look right. He didn’t look right. Even through his shirt, it hadn’t been too hard to count each rib. He knew that he’d always been on the scrawnier side as a kid, but this was something else entirely. He looked more like a thin layer of skin stretched out over a skeleton than an actual person.

_”How did you manage to lose six kilograms in one week?”_ Faust’s voice echoed in his thoughts. _”That’s not something that just happens on accident.”_

He shivered, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the doctor’s tone or from the temperature. Ever since the whole mess had started, he couldn’t escape the feeling of being cold, no matter how many jackets he could find to throw on.

His response had been a simple _”I don’t know,”_ because that’s all he could say. He didn’t know. It had been his third visit in a month, and he still didn’t know anything. No matter what he tried, it had done nothing to change the gnawing hunger that never seemed to vanish no matter what he ate, or the way that everything no longer fit quite right, and instead more hung off of his spindly shoulders.

Faust seemed insistent on keeping him there for the better part of the afternoon, running every test he could think of. Eventually, he’d merely given Zappa a small pat on the back and told him to come back in a few days for the results, though nothing looked especially promising.

He tried to banish the thoughts from his head. Instead, he slipped on a comfy shirt and headed into the kitchen to make dinner.

Jeez, even his arms didn’t look right. He traced the long line of the bone as it pushed out under the skin of his forearm. It felt like it should have been breaking through already, though the thought of that just made him gag.

There wasn’t much in the fridge. Mostly just leftovers from the week. He’d eaten through most of the last grocery run in the first few days. Going out for more was probably a good idea, though he’d have to see if he didn’t wake up already feeling completely exhausted.

Well, soup sounded nice. Zappa grabbed the bowl out from the fridge and set it down on the counter, immediately reaching for a clean spoon. He loved alone, there wasn’t much purpose to sitting down at the table. Besides, just the sight of food made his stomach growl, and he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to make it to the table before digging in. It didn’t taste especially interesting, but it didn’t need to. Just as long as it was food.

He’d been content to simply eat and not think about the day’s events. He already spent too much time worrying in general. Besides, maybe he’d actually get some nice news back. Maybe Faust would figure out something and know how to fix it? He was a brilliant doctor, he was sure it was just a matter of time-

A strange, warm sensation was rolling down his back. Sweat? That couldn’t be it, he was still shivering. Was he just imagining it? 

Zappa eased a hand up the back of his shirt, only to feel it dip into something warm and wet. Even more thoroughly confused, he pulled it back out to take a look. His fingers were smeared with something brownish and salty-smelling...just like the soup he was eating.

“Huh? But how did it- ?”

Had he...managed to spill it over his shoulder? That didn’t make any sense, but he couldn’t think of anything else that was any more logical. He tried not to let it bother him, and went back to his food.

As soon as swallowed another spoonful, the wetness came back. This was getting bizarre. Zappa picked up the bowl and headed back to his room. It was the only one in the apartment that had a big enough mirror. After leaving it on the desk, he turned away from the wall mirror, and rolled his shirt up.

There was undeniably a smear of soup rolling down his back, looking like someone had thrown it at him. But how had it gotten there? And why did it seem to only happen whenever he was eating?

Maybe if he did that again, it would work? He didn’t have many ideas. This whole thing was just so confusing. All he wanted to do was eat and go to bed. Why did all these weird things have to happen to him?

Reluctantly, he reached for the bowl and took another sip.

And he immediately felt like spitting it back out. Reflected in the mirror, he watched the skin of his back shift and push out, with a grotesque face opening up in between the prominent ribs. The face seemed to share his revulsion, as it twisted in disgust before opening its jaw and spitting the soup back out. 

Zappa wasn’t sure if he’d had enough time to scream in terror before he blacked out.


End file.
